When doubt comes against us, we have to lift up the shield of

Host: The church hall was quiet now, emptied of the Sunday crowd. The faint scent of wax candles lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of old wood and rain from the open windows. A few shafts of afternoon light broke through the stained-glass panes, coloring the room in splashes of crimson, gold, and blue — a quiet mosaic of hope and weariness.

At the back pew, Jack sat slouched forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely — not in prayer, but in thought. Beside him, Jeeny leaned back, her gaze fixed on the cross at the front, though her eyes seemed to be searching something beyond it.

A long silence stretched between them — the kind that carries weight but not discomfort.

Jeeny: “Joyce Meyer once said, ‘When doubt comes against us, we have to lift up the shield of faith. We do this when we open our mouth and say what God’s Word says, rather than grumbling and complaining about the problem.’”
She looked at him, her voice soft but sure. “You think that’s true, Jack? That words can build shields?”

Jack: smirking faintly “Words build walls, maybe. Shields? That sounds like something only the faithful can afford to believe in.”

Host: His voice was rough, but not cruel — the tone of a man who’d prayed before and not seen the answer he wanted. The light caught the side of his face, highlighting the quiet defiance behind his skepticism.

Jeeny: “Maybe the faithful aren’t the ones who believe easily. Maybe they’re the ones who choose to believe anyway.”

Jack: “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Faith isn’t logic. It’s choosing a story when you don’t like the ending you’re living.”

Jeeny: “Or,” she said gently, “it’s remembering the ending isn’t finished yet.”

Host: The wind moved softly through the open window, stirring the flame of the last candle still burning near the altar. For a moment, its light trembled, then steadied again — fragile, but defiant.

Jeeny watched it and smiled faintly. “You see that? That’s faith, Jack. It flickers, but it doesn’t go out.”

Jack: “Yeah, but what about when it does go out?”

Jeeny: “Then you light it again.”

Host: He turned toward her slowly, as though testing her conviction. “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not,” she said. “It’s discipline. When doubt comes, you don’t feed it with complaints — you fight it with truth. You speak differently, even when you don’t feel differently.”

Jack: “You’re talking about denial.”

Jeeny: “No. I’m talking about declaration. There’s a difference.”

Host: Her eyes held his — soft, unwavering. “Denial says the storm isn’t real,” she continued. “Faith says the storm won’t win.”

Jack looked down, the faintest shadow crossing his expression. “You ever doubt, Jeeny?”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “All the time. But I learned that doubt doesn’t disqualify you. It just invites you to decide whose voice gets the final word.”

Host: The rain started again, tapping gently against the windows. The church felt alive — not in grandeur, but in the intimacy of imperfection.

Jack: “You sound like you still talk to God.”

Jeeny: “Every day.”

Jack: “And He answers?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. Sometimes not. But that’s not the point.”

Jack: “Then what is the point?”

Jeeny: “That I keep talking anyway. That I keep choosing to speak faith, not fear.”

Host: Jack leaned back in the pew, letting her words settle. The candle flame flickered again, this time catching his attention. “You know,” he said, “there’s a part of me that envies that — that kind of steadiness. I’ve spent years analyzing everything, breaking things apart. Faith doesn’t break. It just… endures.”

Jeeny: “That’s because it’s not built on proof. It’s built on trust.”

Jack: “Trust in what?”

Jeeny: “In the possibility of good — even when everything looks bad. In the belief that speaking hope changes you before it changes anything else.”

Host: He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension softening slightly. “You think that’s what Meyer meant? That faith isn’t just believing — it’s how you speak?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. She’s not talking about magic words. She’s talking about perspective. You can’t control what happens, but you can control the language of your heart.”

Jack: “Language of your heart,” he repeated quietly. “That’s poetic.”

Jeeny: “It’s survival,” she said. “When you start repeating fear, you give it power. When you start declaring faith, you remind yourself you still have a choice.”

Host: The sound of rain deepened — rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the world itself. Jack glanced up at the stained-glass window, where light and shadow wove together in shifting patterns.

Jack: “You think faith changes outcomes?”

Jeeny: “Not always. But it changes you. And sometimes, that’s the real miracle.”

Host: He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that breaks through weariness but doesn’t erase it. “You really believe that words matter that much?”

Jeeny: “They’re the first thing that ever mattered,” she said softly. “The universe began with a word. Creation still does.”

Host: The quiet between them returned, not heavy now, but full — a silence that hummed with understanding. The candle flame steadied again, as if their conversation had calmed even the air around it.

Jack stood, stretching slightly, his eyes moving toward the altar. “You think He listens to people like me?” he asked quietly.

Jeeny stood too, picking up her coat. “Especially people like you. Doubt doesn’t offend Him, Jack. Silence does.”

Jack: “So talk anyway?”

Jeeny: “Talk anyway.”

Host: He nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the candle one last time before he blew it out. The smoke curled upward, soft and blue, like a prayer released.

Jeeny watched it fade, then said, almost to herself:

Jeeny: “Faith isn’t certainty. It’s choosing to speak light even when the room is dark.”

Host: The camera would linger as they walked toward the exit — their silhouettes framed by stained glass and rain. The world outside was gray, but the light spilling from the doorway was gold.

And as the door closed softly behind them, Joyce Meyer’s words lingered like the echo of something ancient and kind:

“When doubt comes against us, we have to lift up the shield of faith.”

For faith isn’t the absence of fear —
it’s the refusal to let fear have the last word.

And sometimes, the truest act of faith
is simply to open your mouth
and speak hope
when everything else in you wants to stay silent.